A/N: I realized I messed up big time with the location of the shooting range with respect to the fence. I said first it was OUTSIDE the fence and then they didn't go through the checkpoint until AFTER they'd dropped off the Dauntless-born so that was 100% my fault. I'll blame sleep deprivation. I'll fix that soon, just not right now. For now, assume that sniper training is OUTSIDE the fence as it was intended. [Edit- this HAS been fixed]

I didn't realize at first what happened. The truck had been barrelling along behind it's partner, taking the rough terrain in stride seemingly without issue. Then, a massive boom reverberated through the steel walls and I had to cling with both hands to the ceiling strap. Both Eric and the driver shouted curses, the crimson haired driver sounding especially frantic as he hauled the careening vehicle back into control.

"What the fuck? Did we just blow a tire on fucking sand?" Eric shouted, trying to stick his head out the window to see the damage. The driver grabbed the radio set above his dashboard and was relaying information rapid-fire to the other truck. Already we were slowing down, the other initiates disappearing in a cloud of dust ahead of us.

I shakily released one hand from the hanging strap - hereby referred to as the "oh SHIT strap" - and let out the breath I'd been holding. I didn't get much respite though, as moments later both Eric and the driver were jumping out of the truck. "Move it, initiate," the driver called out. His voice was nasally and high pitched, and I frowned at being ordered around by someone who didn't even know who I was.

But like a good Dauntless I followed orders, pushing off from the bench and sliding out the passenger door. The truck stood silent, listing heavily to the right from the blown out front tire. Eric was staring at the tattered remains of the steel-bonded rubber tire, running a hand through his short hair in agitation. "It's going to take goddamn forever to fix this," he growled to himself.

The driver nodded in agreement, adding unhelpfully, "If it had been one of the back wheels, we could have limped it back. Now we gotta change it."

Eric sent him a withering glare. "Thanks, Sergeant," he replied dryly. "I had no idea that we were fucking screwed." He returned to staring at the tire, muttering quietly to himself. I could only imagine what he was thinking, but it most likely involved something profane happening to the useless driver.

Shifting my feet uncomfortably, I looked at the perfectly functional rear tires that were mocking us. I could feel the switch inside my brain click when I realized a simple - if exhausting - solution.

"Swap the front and back tires," I said quietly.

"Take off that tire and put it up front," Eric said at the same time.

His head snapped to look at me, eyes narrowing slightly. I met his gaze evenly. Hell, after he was criticizing me earlier, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of denying me this. "Good thinking, Tris," Eric murmured quietly. "Smart."

I allowed myself a small smile and a nod before I went back to staring at the broken down truck.

The driver paced back and forth between the front and back wheels, a frown creasing his face. "I mean, I guess that could work. I was just going to wait for Sandra back at HQ to send out a repair team and call back Justin to pick us up," he mused aloud. "Wouldn't have thought to try swapping these two."

Eric shouldered him out of the way and started to examine the blown out tire. "That's why I'm a Leader and you're driving trucks, Sergeant," he growled. Clearly he wasn't fond of the lower ranked officer. I wasn't going to ask why, since that wasn't particularly important right now. Nor did I really expect to get an answer if I did dare to ask.

The sergeant jumped back into the truck and I could hear him rummaging around the back looking for tools. Beyond offering my suggestion, I still hadn't done anything useful at this point. Looking for some direction, I looked back at Eric. "Orders?" I asked hesitantly. I didn't want to just stand here with my hands in my pockets, but I also had no idea where the repair equipment was or, frankly, how to operate it.

He looked me over, squinting his eyes through the heavy goggles still strapped to his head. Only after considering me carefully - a nerve wracking experience - did he respond. "Just observe the repairs for now. Might as well learn something," he said slowly.

I nodded quickly and started to walk to stand near the blown out front tire. As I crossed in front of him, Eric's hand snapped out and grabbed my shoulder. "Wait," he added as an afterthought. "Take this. Keep watch for any trouble." He unsnapped the clasps on his assault rifle's holster and swung the massive firearm off of his back. Eric passed it to me smoothly and I swallowed my nerves as best I could.

"Of course," I replied without stuttering or fumbling with the weight of the high-powered rifle. Maybe it was the sink-or-swim nature of the situation, but I just pushed aside my worries and rolled with the punches. Slipping the strap about my torso, I tucked the rifle against my shoulder and took up watch by the front of the truck. Four's trigger discipline teachings in mind, I checked the safety and my stance several times before I was satisfied with both.

The afternoon sun was broiling, especially with the layer of body armor that we were wearing. Only five minutes into the repair work and both of the men had tugged off their protective gear in favor of avoiding heatstroke. Eric had even taken off his now-trademark vest, working in just his black t-shirt. Despite the tools in the truck, it still took both of them considerable effort to jack up the truck and haul off the busted tire. From what I overheard from the radio transmissions, support was so far away it barely mattered that the sergeant had called for it at all.

The process of unbolting the front-most rear wheel went faster than the first had gone, but it was still tedious and very labor intensive. The fact that it still was intact with the heavy reinforced rubber tire around it only made the task that much more intense. "Alright, Tris get over here," Eric called out when they had moved the wheel halfway to the front of the truck.

I took one last hard look around us - continuing to spy nothing of interest at all - before I trotted back to where Eric and the still-unnamed sergeant driver were working. "Yeah?" I asked expectantly. What I was expecting, I wasn't fully certain. But it wasn't to be told to shore up Eric's side of the wheel while he stepped back and tugged off his shirt.

I won't lie. I might have lost my grip on the tire as I watched the Dauntless leader strip off his top.

The tightest clinging shirt invented couldn't have done him justice.

Wrenching my eyes away, I dug my heels into the ground to get my grip back. The sergeant panted heavily as he struggled to keep the heavy wheel from falling flat to the ground or against the truck. "Alright, back on guard duty," Eric grunted to me, one arm stretching over my shoulder to take back over. He was acting like this was a normal occurrence, utterly opposite to my wide eyed stare and reeling surprise.

I ducked under his arm, picking up my discarded weapon. While I got myself set up again, I couldn't help my glances back at Eric. His tattoos stood out even more, stark black against his skin. The bars on his neck stopped just at his collarbone, bringing my eyes to cascade over his impeccably muscular chest and stomach. God, could he be any more of a perfect specimen of rugged Dauntless power?

If Christina could see me now… I shook my head twice and trotted back to my guard position by the truck's nose. She probably would be too busy enjoying the view to make any comments, if I was being honest. Not that I was complaining, either. My careful watch of the empty grassland around us was punctuated by plenty of glances to the two young men working.

Hauling the intact tire into position took another five minutes of swearing. Securing it to the axle took another ten. Eric ordered the sergeant to cancel his radio call at that point, informing HQ that they no longer needed the repair detail.

I put the safety back on and slung the assault rifle onto my shoulder before leaving my post at the nose of the truck. "So we're all set?" I asked cautiously. "We're going to meet up with the other trainees at the range?"

Eric, who was wiping grease off his hands with a stained rag, nodded shortly. "Yep. That's the plan," he answered gruffly. He tossed the rag into the open toolbox and turned to look at me. His grey eyes were still intensely focused despite the exhausting task he'd just been doing. "You didn't spot any other trucks out here while you were watching, correct?"

I shook my head fervently. "No. Four's truck was the only other one I've seen and it disappeared pretty much after we broke down. I would have said something if I saw another dust cloud out there," I reported quickly. My upbringing was helping out here as I kept my replies short and sweet.

Eric frowned, looking over my shoulder in the direction of the shooting range. "I'm not sure why the other driver hasn't come by here with Lauren's group," he grumbled, "but I have a suspicion that number boy is behind it. Bastard."

Shifting my feet slightly, I didn't really know how to reply. Or if I should. This was so far out of my comfort zone, being completely different than anything that had happened so far in initiation. So I kept my mouth shut and wrapped my hand tighter around my rifle's strap.

Thankfully Eric wasn't looking for a response. He looked back at me and smirked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Once more my gaze lingered there, still not used to such cavaliere displays of, well, nakedness wasn't the right word, but something like that. "You paid attention to the repairs?" he asked, his voice suddenly light.

"Yeah, I was watching," I replied with a nod. There was something in the way that he asked that I could feel wasn't straightforward.

His smirk twitched a little wider. "Carefully?" Eric asked, stretching the word out. He stepped sideways to lean against the side of the truck, coming closer to where I was standing. Purely by coincidence, I'm sure.

My breath caught in my throat for a moment, so I nodded tightly once more. I coughed to clear my throat and added, "As carefully as I could without getting distracted from keeping watch." Because boy had it been distracting even before Eric took off his shirt. Some time during the repairs it dawned on me that Eric was even younger than twenty, probably only a year or two older than me. Which meant that he was just barely out of initiation and already a Leader.

"Earth to Stiff, come in," Eric taunted, snapping his fingers under my nose. I reeled backwards reflexively from the noise before I realized what happened.

"S-sorry," I sputtered. Pulling myself back in the moment, I cleared my throat again before asking, "What did I miss?"

God, I wanted to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. He tilted his head and said, "I asked if you would pass me my shirt. Unless you're still enjoying the view."

My face burned about as red as the sergeant's hair, and I turned quickly to grab Eric's discarded shirt from where it was draped on the side mirror. "Shut up and get dressed," I grumbled in reply. "Four's going to kill me if I don't show up for practice. Or worse, cut me right then and there." I tossed his shirt at him before brushing by him to get into the back of the truck. Telling him off might not have been a smart move-

"Hey, I'm still your leader," Eric barked at me, though he immediately added, "though you have a point. Sergeant! Why aren't we moving already?" The driver groaned softly before jogging back around to Eric's side of the truck. I think he'd been hiding from Eric and the sun, leaning against the driver's side door.

Now it was my turn to smirk. I hopped up into the truck lightly - it was infinitely more easy when it wasn't moving - and slid my assault rifle onto the bench. I helped the driver load up the toolbox, wincing when he rolled the sliding door shut just inches from my nose. Within three minutes they had their gear back on, including heavy goggles and Eric's vest, and the truck was rumbling to life.

I sat down heavily on the opposite bench to my, well actually it was Eric's rifle, and let out a long breath. "You know," Eric called over his shoulder from the passenger seat, "you didn't look half bad out there keeping watch, Tris. Keep it up and you'll pass initiation without much trouble. As long as you keep following orders, that is."

Not trusting myself to speak, I just nodded and threw up a thumbs up in the direction of the front of the truck. I was glad to be out of the sun, even just for the rest of the trek. "And keep using your head. Don't end up like Richards here, driving trucks for, what's it been, six months now?" Eric added, sneering at the driver.

"Eight, sir," Richards replied with barely restrained irritation. His hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. Eric just laughed and said a quick and obviously insincere "sorry."

Jumping out of the truck and back into the sun was the last thing that I wanted to do, but I forced myself to leave the cool, shaded vehicle. Lauren's group had already taken the other truck - it wasn't there when we pulled up to the target practice zone - and Eric ordered Richards to "do something useful and man the comms" until he needed him again. The cracking of rifles sounded intermittently, like a slow firework display.

My fellow transfers were paired off, spread out across the hard packed earth that marked the shooting range. Four had been pacing between the pairs before he spotted Eric and I making our way from the truck. "We had a bit of a delay," Eric called out cheerfully, as though it hadn't been a royal pain to get here.

"I can see that," Four retorted back. "Here I was thinking that the Stiff had just hopped a truck from Amity back into the city." My footing faltered. His words felt like a sucker punch to my gut, especially after my little outburst to Robert. That was exactly the image I didn't want people to have of me.

Setting my jaw tightly, I stomped faster to where Four was standing, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "I only missed the truck because I was-" I started to growl, intending to explain fully why I'd been late.

"I don't care and it doesn't matter," he interrupted immediately. "The rule for any training is to be here on time or don't show up at all."

Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the irritation of people thinking I couldn't be what I wanted to be. Maybe it was the rage-filled Dauntless girl inside me cheering me on. I don't know what it was, but it exploded inside me.

"Just you wait one fucking second," I roared, stabbing one finger roughly against his crossed arms. "I might have almost missed the trucks, but I didn't give up. I caught up to the trucks and jumped on. If a tire hadn't blown and the other truck - which you and everyone else was inside - hadn't just kept driving, I would have been here right on god damn time.

"You're telling me that if it had been reversed and everyone else-" I waved at the eight transfers turning to look at the commotion "- had been on a truck which got stopped for whatever reason, and you and I had been on the truck that made it here 'on time,' they'd be in trouble? That's bullshit and you know it, Four." He stared at me, a wave of discomfort and alarm crossing his face.

That quickly passed though, his face twisting into a nasty snarl. "It doesn't matter if you think it's 'bullshit' or not, initiate. I'm your superior and I'm telling you you're not training today. So get over it before I deduct even more points from your rank," he snapped. Turning tightly on his heel, Four stormed righteously back over to the eight awestruck transfers. I could see Al's terrified eyes from here, even through his dark goggles.

My hands curled tightly into fists and I ground my teeth together to keep from yelling even more profanities at my "trainer." I was so angry I didn't even hear the crunch of scorched dirt behind me. Eric appeared next to me, a frown creasing his face and his dirty-blonde hair messy from his newly-tugged-on goggles. "Well, normally I'd be impressed with Four for actually showing some backbone," he mused, "except when he leaves me for dead outside the wall, I start to care less. In fact, I tend to get a little pissed off."

I looked over at him and tilted my head slightly. "Beg pardon?" I asked, not quite following what he was saying. Or, frankly, why I should give a damn about how this affected their rivalry.

Eric rolled his eyes and pressed his hand against the small of my back, propelling me forward. He walked us past Four, to the far end of the firing range. "What I'm trying to say is 'fuck that guy.' He's so into, quote, respecting superiors and yet he told Lauren's group to go to checkpoint 20 instead of 19 just so they won't drive by us to give support," Eric said in an annoyed voice. Alright, it was more than annoyed. He was just about as pissed as I was.

"So, if he says that you can't train because he - your superior - said you couldn't, then I'm going to just have to go over his head by a couple ranks and say that you can," he finished in a sickeningly cheerful tone. As we passed by the case of firearms and ammunition, he stopped to pick out a few pieces of gear.

Feeling a little dumbstruck, I blindly accepted the pieces he passed to me. I was still trying to figure out if I should be glad that he was going to train me, or if I should just wait for Four to cool down and give me the official go-ahead. "Congrats, Tris, it's your lucky day," Eric said jauntily, shouldering a camo-printed rifle with a wicked grin.

I clutched the case of ammunition and heavy metal tube to my chest, feeling slightly dazed. "O-okay then," I replied with uncertainty. "If you say so." Continuing down the line, Eric walked us down to the farthest target, several stations away from the last pair of initiates.

His hand on the small of my back vanished as he removed the rifle from his shoulder. Eric extended a hand, gesturing to the tube I was holding. "Switch," he grunted. I obeyed immediately, handing over the contraption in exchange for the sniper. "Keep the ammo. Load the mag and get ready to shoot."

I turned my attention to the firearm in my hand, my mind going at a thousand miles an hour. It seemed similar enough to the other weapons that we'd worked with, so getting the magazine out and loaded wasn't going to be too difficult. I knelt on the hard-packed ground and stood the rifle on it's end so I wouldn't drop the stupid thing.

Two minutes of fiddling with the mechanics and struggling with the heavy latch on the ammo box later and I had my magazine loaded with cartridges. The butt of the rifle also had a few loops clearly for additional rounds, so I filled those as well. By the time I had finished, Eric had assembled his spotting scope. Ah. So that's what I'd been carrying.

He made a slight adjustment with where the scope was pointing before bringing his attention back to me. "So. First thing's first," he started. "Get on your stomach. Prop the rifle right up here." His knuckles rapped silently on the sandbags piled in front of me.

I followed his directions, moving the rifle carefully so that I didn't do anything by accident. The ground was hot on my arms and where the body armor rode up on my stomach, making me grimace. I thought about the canteens of water that I'd spotted in one of the supply piles, wistfully regretting not grabbing one.

Eric settled onto the ground as well, one of his boots only inches from my face with how he was sitting. I pulled the rifle back so the butt was against my shoulder. "Now what?" I asked. My frustration and anger from earlier was manifesting in a tense nervousness and I drummed my fingers on the barrel.

"Keep it close to you so you can hold everything steady," he commanded. His finger pointed to the sight mounted on top. "Here's where things are different from using your handgun.

"This sight is your best friend, if you know how to use it." I nodded tightly. That made sense. Precision and accuracy were what made riflemen so dangerous. That much I had gathered from Four's lectures. I leaned into the frame of the rifle, lining up my eye to the scope. Eric quickly went over the basics on changing magnification and noting the tiny distance guides etched inside the reticle.

"Now I want to see how well you can shoot," he said. My nerves, which had calmed down during his quick overview, spiked again.

"Got it," I mumbled into the frame. Taking a deep breath, I lined up the center of the target in my sight and quickly squeezed the trigger. The crack of the gunshot in my ear seemed deafening and the slam of the recoil surprised me. I managed to hold the barrel steady, but my shoulder ached from the impact.

"Again," was Eric's only response from behind his spotting scope.

I gritted my teeth and realigned myself with the target. Four more shots. Four more terse replies. Glaring down the sight, I tried to count the number of holes in the thick target material. My first and third shots had gone wild, missing completely. There were two holes piercing the outermost rings and another about midway to the center.

My sight trained on the bullseye, I adjusted my aim slightly higher. The other shots had all been too low, so I hoped the compensation would help. I exhaled this time as I shot, remembering back to my impromptu shooting lessons earlier this week.

The rifle cracked in my arms, but still held steady enough where the shot stayed true. Progress.

Peering once more down the sight at the target, I was pleased to see I'd struck just outside the two center rings. "Not bad for your sixth shot," Eric remarked in a pleased voice. I felt a tiny surge of pride and more than a little bit of relief. Eric turned his attention from the spotting scope back to me.

"A few comments," he started off with a chuckle. "Try not to hold the rifle in a death grip. You want to control it, but not so much that the recoil shakes you half to death.

"Actually, you just need to relax overall. Shooting's a challenge, not a death sentence." His steel grey eyes continued to study me carefully. It made my stomach flip.

I nodded tightly. "Got it." Settling back into my stance, I tried to force my brain to relax. When I squeezed the trigger, I grunted as the butt of the rifle slammed into my sore shoulder.

"Relax," Eric's voice murmured in my ear. "You're overthinking." He moved from sitting next to my head to lie down on the dirt next to me. Eric reached around my shoulders to adjust how my arms were holding the stock and barrel. "You have to get right up and personal with the rifle. You can't be afraid of it." His hand rested against the small of my back, just slightly heavy through the body armor.

"Take your time, Tris."

Despite him being so close, I felt less nervous than before. My breathing steady and even, I took careful aim. I didn't want to rush anything. I noted the subtle motions of the gun, the gentle bobbing as I breathed in and out. Once I adjusted to the slow tempo and the tiny jerks that could only be smoothed from practice, I took my shot. My arms no longer locked in place, I felt the recoil push back as I held the barrel still.

"Gorgeous," he purred. My resulting flush was from pride and not the huskiness of his voice. I settled back into position to shoot again. Before I could though, an earshattering tone sounded across the range. A wave of panic swept over me and I twisted quickly to look around.

"What was that?" I asked nervously. It had been louder than the cracks of gunfire nearby, which was rather concerning.

Eric snorted a laugh. "Nothing to freak out about. That's the signal to hold your fire."

"Oh." That made sense. Much safer and easier than trying to shout across a range of people deep in concentration.

Four was calling out to the transfers to change targets. The pairs must have been switching off. For the first time in the past half hour he looked over at where we were. Making eye contact, he waved his hand at me and then my target. Go swap it out.

"I'll hold that if you don't mind," Eic said casually, tugging the rifle smoothly from my hands.

"And if I do?" I grunted half-jokingly as I pushed myself up and over the sandbags. He only chuckled in reply. I started jogging towards my target as Eric reloaded the rifle and peered down the scope. It made me a little nervous to have my back to him when I reached the target, but I rationalized that a leader probably had to have very good trigger discipline.

Probably.

I could feel his gaze on me the whole time, made worse by the fact that the closest pair was 20 yards away. I shoved the feeling out of my mind while I detached the used target. It was disconcerting looking at the punched out holes. The target was far wider than it had appeared, and shots that had seemed centimeters away were practically whole handspans apart. If we were working on targets this big and missing, how were we supposed to get precision and accuracy to shoot a person?

I didn't want to think about that too hard as I swapped on a fresh target. While I was on my way back to my spot, I noticed who had been matched with whom. Christina - God bless her - had been stuck with Peter while Will and Al had banded together. Molly and Drew were arguing about who would shoot next, and Edward and Maya made up the final pair. I suppose I was grateful that Eric had been feeling generous enough to teach me. Round-robin shooting lessons would have been shitty if I had been stuck in a threesome.

Finally I was back behind my sandbags, I looked expectantly at Eric. "I want you to try a new position this time, Tris," he started off. "No one likes a girl who only knows one."

His smirk told of a joke that was flying over my head. I gave a half-hearted "ha, yeah," in response.

"Oh my god, you stiffs need more humor in your lives," he groaned before getting back to business. "Sit down and cross your legs," he instructed. Following his orders, I promptly sat and folded my legs neatly. I liked it more than lying down with my face in the dirt already. He settled in behind me, close but still without touching me. He tapped my left knee.

"Pop that up and take this back," Eric added, passing back the sniper. " Keep this hand on the trigger-" he guided my right arm back to its familiar position "-and tuck this one under the frame, hugging your knee." Once again his hand ghosted across my arm, gently prodding me into the right pose.

"Perfect," he murmured in my ear. "Far more natural for you, mmm?" My throat caught and I had to nod in reply. Good lord, maybe there was a reason we didn't touch in Abnegation. My heart pounded in my chest as I peered down the scope at the fresh target. Breathe, I commanded myself. This is nothing you can't handle. Exhaling smoothly, I squeezed the trigger.

The motion rocked me as usual, but I stayed steady and didn't shy away from the sight. Breathe in, breathe out, fire again. My first three shots formed a tight circle in the middle rings - better than before but not great. I adjusted my aim, tightened the arm supporting the frame, and let loose another short burst. Eric inhaled sharply from behind me on my last shot.

My nerves returned momentarily. Did I royally screw up? Shakily, I peered through the scope and felt the air flood out of my lungs like a kick to the chest. One shot lingered on the edge of the ring and two punched squarely through the bullseye.

"That was-" he started to say before Four's voice boomed across the range.

"You can't fucking be afraid of the gun!" he bellowed. "This isn't day one anymore." Everyone was looking now, eyes trained on the pair that had caught Four's wrath. Will looked pale behind his goggles and Al was holding the sniper so gingerly it was almost floating on his fingertips.

"Someone's going to wish they hadn't transferred," Eric growled in my ear. I sat mutely in horror as he swung back up and prowler towards the uncooperative duo. "Dauntless aren't afraid of anything," he drawled dramatically, " and that's something you'll have to learn sooner rather than later. So let's go for sooner, mm?"

Four glared at him indignantly but didn't speak up. No one was moving an inch.

"You're afraid of the gun?" Eric asked coldly. It was amazing how quickly his entire mood and tone shifted. He was like a predator locked into his prey. I had to remind myself to breathe.

Al jutted his chin out defiantly. Hell, it was the first bold thing I'd seen him do all initiation. "Well yeah," he answered matter of factly. "It's kind of a killing machine we just got handed today."

Oh no. Al, Al, Al why did you have to reply like a smartass? If you'd just said yes, you might have gotten off easy. "Shut up, idiot," I whispered to myself, not daring to speak up.

Eric blinked at Al, feigning surprise. "Oh, so that's supposed to make it okay? It's okay to fuck up royally because you're scared of doing your job?"

Al ground his teeth together, but kept his mouth shut miraculously. I noticed Will shaking his head very slowly, his eyes locked on his partner. "Go run laps," Four ordered the pair. "Neither one stops until you've done at least twenty."

Eric put his hand up, stopping Al from passing by him. "No. That won't teach either of them anything. Or get crybaby here over his fears." I found myself walking over to the group, along with Christina and a very amused Peter. "Go stand by the target. Maybe you'll get over your fears watching your partner shoot from a new perspective."

My heart skipped a beat. Even Peter looked a little less gleeful. Four however looked resigned, not even attempting to contest Eric's punishment. My stomach turned in knots as Al walked dejectedly towards the target. How good was Will's aim?

"Chin up, sport. If you flinch, you might just put yourself out of your misery," Eric called out once Al reached the target. Will was holding the rifle unsteadily, swallowing several times in succession. It was killing me inside.

"Anyone can stand next to a target," I finally blurted out. "That doesn't make you brave."

Eric turned to train his glare on me now. "So he should get to weasel out of this because anyone can do it? I think that means he has to, since it's so easy."

"Unless you want to," Four chimed in, his expression unreadable. "Or would you rather take Will's place shooting at your friend? You can't be a martyr for both, though." The sarcasm in his words bit at me, making me angry instead of scared. He wasn't doing shit to help either one of them when he clearly should have been.

Christina bristled beside me. "Be careful, Tris," she whispered.

"Don't fuck up, Stiff," Peter mocked. I could feel my heart pounding. Who did I trust more? Al not to flinch or Will not to shoot me if I did?